She jerked the keys out of the ignition and picked up her phone, chewing her lower lip before pressing play on her voicemail and putting the phone on speaker.
“We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot, Miss Cinderella Cleaning.” The man had another coughing fit. “If you do this job for me, I will pay you thirty grand, final offer. I won’t be at the estate while you are in residence. In fact, you’ll probably be bored out of your mind. We have state-of-the-art security, and I believe the only concern you’ll have is when the ass gets loose, which I’m sorry to report happens quite often, if my ranch hand is to be believed. Then again, he’s old, so maybe he’s imagining it.” Another long sputter. “Call me back, we’ll make arrangements. You’ll open the house, keep it clean, and prepare it for its new tenants, all the while taking breaks out by the pool. How hard could it be?”
Jane chewed her lower lip.
How hard indeed?
Chapter Ten
Jane!” Esmeralda shrieked so loudly that Jane winced beneath the warmth of her old blanket. “Jane!” Another loud yell was followed by stomping up the creaky wood stairs.
The wool blanket was jerked away and tossed onto the floor.
Esmeralda towered over the bed, arms crossed. “It’s seven.”
“I know,” Jane said in a small voice. “It’s also Tuesday. You go into work at nine on Tuesdays.”
Esmeralda’s eyes narrowed into tiny slits. “But I still need to eat, and Essence wants to get in early, so hurry the hell up. God, I don’t know why we put up with you.”
They’d been fighting with Jane ever since Monday night, when she had gotten into it again with them about staying out late and spending money that they didn’t have. It didn’t help that Esmeralda didn’t get the promotion she’d thought she was up for, which meant no pay raise. Essence had said as much when she got home last night. Her face was pale when she’d mentioned that Esmeralda had been counting on the money.
Jane didn’t want to know.
Didn’t ask.
Because she had a sinking feeling her sister had done something stupid. And they couldn’t afford to bail her out again.
Jane waited until the door slammed after her sister then allowed the tears to fall freely. She’d been having the best dream.
About Brock.
Because naturally a man that good-looking just had to invade her dreams, as well as every time she thought about shoes, or dark hair, or men with kind smiles. He’d been so nice.
So. Nice.
Typically, she just cleaned offices, moving through the day while people passed her by, not giving the cleaning lady a second glance. She was okay with that; she’d always been okay with that.
Until now.
Until someone…had stopped.
Until someone beautiful…had smiled.
Gah!
She pounded her fists into the mattress as her name was screamed up into the rafters yet again, this time by Essence.
She grabbed her sweatshirt like she did every other day, threw it over her head, and slowly ambled down the stairs.
Both girls were seated in their spots at the table, and Jane got a sudden vision of her future.
She’d be eighty and still cleaning up their messes.
In the same ratty sweatshirt.
In the same sad pathetic flip-flops.
Frowning, she grabbed one of the skillets and tossed in some bacon. She’d promised her father, but what if, by keeping her promise…she lost her soul? Her will to live?
“Damn.” Essence let out a long whistle. “I wouldn’t kick him out of bed.”
“Let me see!” Esmerelda snatched the paper from Essence’s hands. “Please. He didn’t even look at you the other night.”
“He would have,” Essence grumbled, “if Jane hadn’t fallen and caused such a commotion.”
“I wish we had the money to bid on him,” Esmeralda whined, and then both girls fell silent.
Prickles of awareness shivered down Jane’s spine.
“Jane, dear?” Essence said first. “Didn’t Daddy leave you some money?”
“No,” she said quickly, irritated by the knowledge that if she had an inheritance they’d expect her to fork it over just so they could bid on chance to marry a millionaire. She didn’t have to turn around and read the newspaper to know they were talking about Brock. She’d looked him up after the party.
He was rich.
But it wasn’t just that he was loaded—he was famous.
Famous for being brilliant.
Famous for being nice.
Famous for being a terror in the boardroom, which he clearly made up for by doing good deeds during the holiday season.
He spent every Christmas at the freaking homeless shelter serving turkey dinners. He was an actual saint.
So should it surprise her that he’d bought her shoes?
No.
He’d do it for anyone.
She was nobody special.
And a few hundred dollars for shoes? Meant nothing to a man like him—meanwhile meaning the world to her.